


Misunderstandings and Soft Love

by cloakoflevitation



Category: Good Omens (TV)
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Feelings, Fluff and Angst, Gen, Love Confessions, Miscommunication, Misunderstandings, Queerplatonic Relationships
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-28
Updated: 2019-06-28
Packaged: 2020-05-28 12:20:59
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,777
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19394029
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cloakoflevitation/pseuds/cloakoflevitation
Summary: Set post canon. Crowley confesses his love for Aziraphale and there's some miscommunication and angst and then Aziraphale confesses his love for Crowley. Fluffy and soft happy ending with ~feelings~





	Misunderstandings and Soft Love

**Author's Note:**

> My lovely friend Cayden introduced me to this show (despite not having watched it themself at the time lol) and so it's to them I'm dedicating this lil fic <3

“Oh, buck up, will ya? At this rate even a _fake_ plant would be better than you lot.” Crowley gave the yellow and withering potted plants one last glare before dropping down into an armchair across from Aziraphale on the sofa. “Honestly,” he grumbled, “Why you bother trying to grow anything in this dusty old place is beyond me.”

Aziraphale turned a page in his book, unbothered. “I’ve got to give you something to yell at besides me, dear.”

Crowley grumbled a bit more under his breath. Then it was quiet, for a long while. The kind of quiet that lulls you gently to sleep, but in a way that you scarcely notice it happening. It was warm in the bookshop, and there were no world-ending matters, no temptations or amusements that couldn’t be put off until tomorrow.

Crowley’s breathing slowly evened and his thoughts slipped easily from his mind. He heard the rustle of paper and fleetingly thought there was a reason he was there, a reason he should be awake, but he soon forgot the thought.

Sleep took him slowly and then all at once.

When he woke, he found Aziraphale had fallen asleep on the sofa, book still in his hand. Crowley simply watched him for a while, unable to do anything but softly smile at the angel sleeping across from him. He took everything in, as if committing it to memory. Aziraphale’s slow, quiet breaths. The book, still open, loosely held by one hand, laying on his thigh. The (surely cold by now) cup of cocoa on the table next to him. The little crease in his brow. The innocent expression of sleep.

Crowley stretched and then stood. He gently pulled the book from his friend’s hand, careful to keep from waking him and to mark the page. When he had set it next to Aziraphale’s mug, he grabbed a throw from the other end of the sofa and draped it over him.

He lifted his jacket from the hook by the door and slipped his glasses on. Looking back once more, he stepped outside and pulled the door firmly shut behind him.

*

They were coming back from lunch. Crowley had been the one to suggest it, and Aziraphale had agreed, saying they deserved to “enjoy the little things” after all they had been through. Crowley pulled the Bentley over to the curb, thankfully finding somewhere to park not too far from the bookshop. He had made it out of the car and to the sidewalk before Aziraphale had even opened his door. Crowley leaned down slightly, looking in the window. Aziraphale had a bag of a bit of food that he had insisted they buy “just in case” perched in his lap and was holding another bag with his newest additions to his book collection that he had picked up after lunch.

Crowley sighed and shook his head with far too much fondness. He opened the door and raised an eyebrow. “Please, take your time. I don’t have any plans for the next century.”

Aziraphale scowled, carefully cradling his bags in his arms as if they were a baby. “You could offer to help, you know.”

“And you could use the handles on your bags.” Crowley shot back. “You’ve only got the two after all.” He shut the door to the Bentley, giving it one last glance before locking it.

Adjusting the bags in his grasp, Aziraphale explained, “I don’t trust them.”

“I beg your pardon?”

“The handles. I don’t trust them.”

Crowley tilted his head down just enough to look at him over the tops of his dark glasses, incredulous. “You don’t trust _the handles.”_

“Don’t give me that now,” Aziraphale huffed, starting down the sidewalk. “These books are rather heavy, and just imagine the mess it would make if my soup were to fall out of its bag.”

Crowley’s response was interrupted by someone coughing lightly and then, “Um, excuse me?”

Both turned to look at what appeared to be a college student or thereabouts.

“Yes?”

The student smiled. “I couldn’t help but overhear – I just wanted to say, you’re such a sweet couple. Happy pride month.”

“We’re not _sweet,”_ Crowley growled, at the same time that Aziraphale rather adamantly insisted, “We’re not a _couple.”_ Both turned to look at each other, surprised.

“Oh, I’m sorry,” the student blushed, “I shouldn’t have assumed.” With a rather awkward, “Have a nice day,” they shuffled off.

“Oh!” Aziraphale, called after them, though they didn’t turn around or stop. “Happy pride month to you as well!”

“Well,” Crowley started to say, looking after them one last time before turning towards Aziraphale, “That was rather –”

“Enough of that!” Aziraphale cut him off, his voice pitched too high. “Let’s get back to the shop before I drop these.” Something was off in his tone, something that made worry gnaw at the back of Crowley’s mind. But he could see that pushing would only make it worse, so he just started walking towards the bookshop.

Aziraphale shifted the bags in his hands once more, as if he were growing tired of carrying them, and Crowley snatched the one with books in it.

“You don’t have to – oh not the handles –”

Crowley waved off his fussing, clutching the bag around the middle with one arm and pulling it against his body, not using the handles. “Thanks angel,” he said with a roll of his eyes, “But I think I know how to _handle_ this.”

Aziraphale groaned at the pun.

*

They spent hours just… talking. The comfortable sort of conversation that’s round and warm and easy. The kind that made Crowley wish he could stay in the moment forever, soaking up the sheer euphoria of it all. He found himself staring at Aziraphale far too often and with far too much fondness. It was these sorts of moments in which Crowley was certain he would never, could never possibly be happier. What more was there for him to want?

Not that he showed this, of course. There were appearances to maintain. Being a demon came with a certain reputation after all.

But all good things must come to an end. The shadows were getting quite long, and the afternoon had long since passed them by. Sooner rather than later Aziraphale would awkwardly try to send him off, and today he didn’t feel like dealing with the awkwardness. He stood up from his armchair and stretched. “I’ll need to be heading out then.”

Aziraphale frowned, a pout on his lips. “So soon?”

“As if I hadn’t spent all day with you,” Crowley teased him despite the warm and fuzzy feeling that his protest caused. Aziraphale still looked put out, and Crowley longed to say, _Come home with me,_ or better yet, have Aziraphale say, _Stay._ But he knew better. So instead, he asked, “Lunch tomorrow?”

“Er... tomorrow?”

“Yes tomorrow,” Crowley repeated, surprised. “Unless you have plans?” The last bit was mocking, because of course he didn’t have plans. They had no sides now, no superiors. There was nothing they had to do and no one they had to report to, having just recently saved the world and effectively been fired from their jobs for it. Crowley didn’t mind so much, but he knew Aziraphale did.

“Well tomorrow… that’s… hmm better not.”

 _“Better not?”_ Crowley repeated, disbelieving. He gave him a stern look. Occasionally in the past Aziraphale had required some persuasion to be tempted into an outing, but it had been centuries since Crowley had seen hesitance and reluctance this prominent on his friend’s face. His eyes narrowed. “What’s this about?”

Aziraphale twisted his hands in his lap, his gaze nervously flitting from Crowley to the floor to the bookshelves. “Well… the student, from earlier - you remember the one - outside the bookshop. It’s… I mean… we wouldn’t want to give anyone the wrong impression would we? I mean going out again so soon? We did go today...”

A void opened up in Crowley’s chest and swallowed him whole. For the briefest moment, he was certain none of this was real and he was only dreaming. _“The wrong impression?”_ He repeated Aziraphale’s words dumbly, because that’s all he seemed to be able to do now. Emotion welled up in him, welled up in his eyes, and he realized he was either becoming quite sad or quite angry, so he chose the latter. “Are you so worried some human might think we were _together?”_ He spat the last word, as if it were a curse, and resolutely ignored the way Aziraphale flinched. “I didn’t realize you were so ashamed of me.”

“I didn’t-”

“No,” Crowley cut him off icily. “You did.” He paused, studying Aziraphale, trying to see in his eyes where he had gone wrong, searching the tension of his shoulders as if it could reveal his mistake. Things had been going so well since the Doomsday That Didn’t.

Bitterness burst like a balloon in his chest, sharp and stinging. He should have known better. Even he was self aware enough to know he wasn’t the sort that gets a happy ending. Aziraphale just made it so easy to hope for more.

“Do you remember the bandstand?” He asked suddenly, unable to keep his emotions properly in check and repressed. “You told me we weren’t friends. You said it was over, _this_ was over. Do you remember?” He watched Aziraphale wince and nod. “And I thought… I thought maybe it was just a fight. It was the end of the world, after all. We were worried and…” He sighed. “I knew… I _knew_ we couldn’t leave. You couldn’t leave Earth. I couldn’t leave you.” He heard Aziraphale gasp softly, and Crowley had to look away from the emotion on his face. It burned to have Aziraphale look at him like that, in such a way that completely melted his heart, and still be pushed away in the next breath. “You’re my best friend, angel,” he smiled sadly. “I care about you. Always have. And I suppose… I thought… you… at least a little...” He dragged his fingers roughly through his hair, turning away. Damn it all, he was a wreck. “I didn’t think you were serious. How could we not be _friends?”_

Aziraphale whimpered, “Crowley…”

“No, Aziraphale.” The simple rejection made the angel fall silent. When Crowley turned around, Aziraphale was watching him with round, wide eyes, and standing up quickly. Crowley pulled his glasses from his pocket and slipped them on. “At least I know where we stand now. Don’t say anything and muddy things up. You wouldn’t want to give me the _wrong impression.”_ The horrible phrase from earlier hung entirely wrong in the air, suffocating the both of them.

“Really, Crowley I -” Aziraphale begged, emotion clear in his voice, on his face, in the way he reached out towards him, but it only made Crowley’s heart crack. He was already several feet away from him, but he flinched back regardless, hating himself when Aziraphale abruptly stopped moving, looking at him in horror. But he couldn’t stand and listen to Aziraphale’s reassurances, to his platitudes, when he had made his feelings abundantly clear: he was humiliated that anyone might even _think_ that they were together. And even if Crowley hadn’t been nursing feelings for the angel for the last six thousand years, even if he wasn’t hopelessly in _love,_ that would have stung.

His voice was too quiet and it shook when he said, “I’ve had all I can handle today.” Between one moment and the next, he had miracled himself away.

And in the safety of his apartment, Crowley sank to his knees, screamed, cursed anyone he could think of, and then cried.

*

Loud, pounding knocks on his front door woke him up. He nearly ripped the door off its hinges, standing barefoot, hair in disarray, ready to incinerate the offending party, only to find Aziraphale standing in front of him.

For a moment, he simply stood speechless and blinked. Then he and Aziraphale started to speak at the same time. “It’s nearly 2 in -”

“I’m so sorry -”

They both abruptly stopped. Crowley stood motionless and conflicted, still holding the door. Aziraphale had never once accepted an invitation to his home, and yet... here he was. But their fight was still very fresh on his mind and his heart, and part of him very much wanted to slam the door in Aziraphale’s face and crawl back into bed and allow himself to nurse his bruised feelings and his misery for a few decades.

The decision was made for him, however, when Aziraphale brushed past him, cautiously peering around at the darkened walls of his apartment.

Crowley absently shut the door, his mind still catching up to reality as he followed Aziraphale into his living room.

“You have a lovely apartment.”

The words snapped Crowley back into the present. “Aziraphale,” he began with more than a little resignation, “What are you doing here?”

Aziraphale’s mouth pulled to the side, a nervous tick of his, and his hands came together to worry and fidget. “About earlier…” He trailed off, seemingly at a loss.

“It’s fine,” he forced himself to say, to absolve Aziraphale of needing to say anything else about the matter. He was hoping to avoid anymore painful conversation about it, and he was also hoping to relieve the tension he had caused in Aziraphale.

This was apparently the wrong thing to say, though, because Aziraphale made a wounded noise. “It’s not fine! How could you say that?” Before Crowley could even begin to form a response, Aziraphale was crying, and that made everything worse. (For a fleeting moment, sheer, horrified panic flooded his chest and he thought he might cry as well. But he’d be damned - well he’d be saved, rather - before he’d cry in front of his houseplants, let alone cry at all, so he willed away his tears.)

“Angel…” Crowley begged him, feeling absolutely helpless. He didn’t know what to do and he didn’t know how to ask.

“Oh Crowley,” Aziraphale managed to get out through his tears. He rubbed at his eyes and took a few steadying breaths and simmered down from sobbing to just… watery. “I love you,” he said, completely catching Crowley off guard, sucking all the air from his lungs at once. “I do. I have for - for - well, a while. You are so very important to me. Don’t make the mistake of thinking that you aren’t my best friend as well.”

Crowley opened his mouth and attempted to ask several questions but only managed a confused noise.

“My dear,” Aziraphale said softly, in that terribly fond way of his. “I’m so sorry about that business earlier. It wasn’t the humans I was worried about giving the wrong impression. It was… you.” He sighed, finally dropping Crowley’s gaze, letting the demon start breathing again. “I don’t… I don’t care for you… well, in the way humans love each other. I simply don’t feel things that way.” He turned back to Crowley once more, giving him a searching look. “But I _do_ love you.”

Relieved laugher spilled out of Crowley’s mouth, unasked for, and he took a step towards Aziraphale. The angel took the tiniest step back when Crowley moved forward, and Crowley instantly froze, his laughter dying. “I want–” Crowley tried to explain, tried to give voice to his relief that Aziraphale did care about him, that they were going to be okay, that they had each other, that Crowley just wanted to hold him, but he couldn’t seem to find the words.

Aziraphale stepped forwards and pulled him into a hug.

Crowley’s arms tentatively came up to hold him. “Is this… okay?”

Aziraphale let out a huff of laughter. “Would you like me to stop?”

 _“No.”_ His arms tightened around the angel, holding him securely against himself. Aziraphale was warm and soft and absolutely perfect for hugging, just as Crowley had always suspected he would be. His curls gently tickled Crowley’s neck and the side of his face that was resting against Aziraphale’s head. The weight and presence of having him in his arms did funny things to Crowley’s heart. “Stay?” He asked softly, nearly a whisper, as if the single word could shatter this moment (and perhaps it might, but Crowley couldn’t help but ask).

Aziraphale pulled back enough to look at him, smiling with such sweetness, such fondness that Crowley thought it might kill him. “I’d love to.”

Crowley pressed a fierce kiss to the top of his head, adoring the way color rose in Aziraphale’s cheeks. He gently led Aziraphale down the hall. “Let’s go to sleep.”

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! Comments mean the world to me <3


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